I only read this today, but I’ve written Jack’s name on my hand. I live near where this tragedy occurred and the moment I heard I was so sad. I hugged my girls very tight that night and prayed for the family who lost their son and wished the media would leave them alone. There are no words of condolences I can give. Absolutely none. But I have Jack’s name on my hand and his picture in my mind. Peace.

My heart breaks for Anna, and I’m sending my most sincere prayers her way. I’ve watched two of my close friends mourn the loss of children who also died in water-related accidents. Like Anna, they are teaching me about what it means to grieve with faith.

Tears are pouring down my face. My oldest is a “Jack” too. A lego fanatic as well. I am sooooooo utterly heartbroken for Anna, Tim, Margaret and their extended family. The photo of Jack is adorable and he looks so absolutely loveable and full of life. Gorgeous, gorgeous boy. I will be thinking of him for quite sometime.

We are holding Tim, Anna & Margaret up in prayer today and remembering sweet Jack. Thank you for this amazing gesture. What a great idea to write his name on your hand and be reminded of him all day long.

My heart breaks for them today, and has for the past year that I have been reading Anna’s blog. I remember reading how much she was dreading this day… I will continue to pray for them every day and hope that their memories of such a beautiful son they had will bring them some kind of comfort today. God bless the Donaldsons.

Thinking of Anna, Tim and Margaret today – and that beautiful boy, Jack. I know there is no “bottom” to your pain. Think not of one year passed without your beloved ~ but one year closer to seeing him again one day. Much love to your family.

I have thought about Jack all day long too and my heart aches for his family, so deeply.

This morning when I woke up, I was laying in bed scrolling through my phone when I read the link to this post on FB… I clicked, read, and then read the original post about Jack’s story. My heart broke immediately of course. As I was reading, my 10 year old son came up from downstairs, walked to my bed and said ‘did I ever tell you about the time I almost drowned?’… I couldn’t believe the words that had just come out of his mouth. He couldn’t see my phone, he had no idea what I’d been reading, so I couldn’t fathom that he had just said that. I asked what make him tell me that story and he said “I don’t know, it just popped into my head.” In that moment, I truly felt like Jack had a hand in it somehow… I don’t know how and I don’t know why, but perhaps as a reminder to me to enjoy every precious moment with my son. It all sounds crazy, I know, but I haven’t stopped thinking about it, or Jack, all day. Love to you all! xo

Today I thought about Jack and Anna and Tim and Margaret, all day. I feel so sad for them. And in honor of Jack and his family, I decided today was the perfect day to spend together, with my husband and two little ones (8 & 3), soaking up each other all day. We took a walk in the woods and baked brownies and played board games and had dance parties and just enjoyed a day of nothing to do and nowhere to go. I’ll always remember Jack and his family. And I hope I will always remember to cherish the precious moments with the ones I love the most.

I am thinking of Anna, Margaret, and Tim today. May God help them get through this difficult day. I am out of town and don’t have a camera to take a picture of my hand, but Jack is there to remind me of this precious little boy and the preciousness of all of our lives. I hope many people ask me why I have Jack written on my hand today.

In 1 week we move into our “forever” home with our 2 year old gregarious son and our sweet 6 month old daughter. In our backyard there is a creek. Know that sharing this story will make me think of Jack and his family daily. In sharing this story, you and Anna have protected my children and their future friends. Thank you.

Jack. Lego. Lego Boxes. I am with you Anna. My six year old son is my joy. Your courage and strength, your willingness to let us all share in this pain and to learn something from your suffering is humbling. Thank you and love from the highest place, the deepest darkness, the softest whisper of Jack’s spirit on this difficult journey.

I just discovered her blog earlier this week from your post. I was so deeply moved that I had to read every entry since before the accident. I cannot believe how many tears I have shed for this family…strangers..but not. I bawled listening to a song that Taylor Swift sang last night during the “Stand Up to Cancer”, in memory of a 4 year old boy who died. I thought of Jack..My 4 yr old daughter brought me tissues and I shared his story.
Thinking of the entire family today…will def. post a picture. <3

Your son Jack will be with me for a long time. I am so sorry for your loss. I am the mother of one son 24 years old. As I sit here and try not to cry I think about the strenghth your family has shown. Your story is a gift to people just living their lives. Take a moment each day to realise what a gift life is. Life is so fragile that nothing should be taken for granted. please accept my sincere thanks for having the strength to share your story.

Hi Glennon, I read your Blog but have never commented and today, my comment will not be well written because I am crying too hard. I have been wanting to reach out to you for weeks, but I haven’t because I didn’t know what I wanted to ask of the Monkees, but today, I am just hurting and need help. Over two months ago, our dear family friend Linnea Lomax dissappeared in Sacramento. She was the daughter of the most beautiful people I know. Her mom, Maya, is my mentor and her dad helped form my husband into the man he is now. They are full of love. FULL of it! They pour out love on everyone they know and they know a lot of people because their lives are a ministry to everyone. They live like Christ and I have always aspired to be like Maya Lomax, to love people like Maya loves them. But then, June 26th her eldest daughter dissapeared. She walked right out of a mental health clinic after a 10 day stay for a sever mental break. She left without her phone, wallet…just walked out and vanished and for over two months her family and friends did nothing but search. For the past two months, I have felt nothing but pain when I think of Maya because Maya was suffering my worst fear. I have a 5 year old son and a 3 year old daughter and if I lost them, I think I would curl up in a ball and stop moving, just let myself fade away because my whole heart would be gone. Yesterday, they found Linnea’s remains. Until yesterday, I had hope that she would come home and so maybe I didn’t write because I didn’t want the need for help with the grief to be real. Now it is real, so Monkees: how is one to deal with the loss of such a young person, how do I tell my 3 and 5 year old that the girl we have been searching for, our dear friend, is dead, and how do I love her family through this when I can’t even keep myself together? What do we do for our friends that lose a child?

Amy, I’m so sorry. That is devastating. Thanks for reaching out here. The husband of a dear friend of mine committed suicide last year after a long battle with mental illness. It’s so hard to understand, to grieve, to forgive, to let go… I don’t have any advice for you, but I will pray for you and for Linnea’s family.

Amy- I’m so sorry for your pain. Just yesterday, I was reading Anna’s blog (Jack’s mom) – in it, she wrote a beautiful piece addressing exactly what you just asked – what can you do for the family. Anna is an inspiration – perhaps, you could even point Maya in the direction of Anna’s blog. Look it over.

I’m so touched by Jack’s story. Hopefully these comments help Anna realize she is less of an alien than she feels. I am like her Margaret…lost my brother (my lobster) 24 years ago. Sending her family love and holding her Jack in my heart today.

This is so heartbreaking. I cry for all parents who have lost a child. This eats me up inside. I know it is my biggest fear and I am in awe of those who have lived through it b/c it shows amazing resilence. Thanks for sharing this

I have a really heavy heart today for Anna, Tim and Margaret. Anna, if you read these comments, know that I am sending lots of love and prayers. I am hoping that you can find some extra comfort today in your beautiful, beautiful memories of your rare bird.

Reading this story touched me and tears slid quietly down my cheeks, but it rocked my world when I watched her video. I can’t stop sobbing, because I, too, wanted my life to be different, but not by being the mother of a 21 month old son who became paralyzed from the neck down when my husband fell asleep at the wheel. For 13 years I have kept it buried deep inside, only letting it come out when he started kindergarten and still didn’t speak or utter a sound when all the other kids in the classroom was so excited and couldn’t stop talking. Or when he first did speak at Christmas. or when the military moved us the summer before 4th grade and he was so depressed to be in a new school where kids had never seen someone in a wheelchair and on a ventilator. Or when he started middle school and went to his first dance. Or when he started ninth grade a few days ago. Or when people look at me with eyes full of pity when they first meet my son. I’ve kept all my emotions buried deep inside to be strong for my handsome first born and for my broken, beautiful husband. But today, all the emotions just poured violently out of my entire body. I am still shaking from it. But with the sobbing, a cleansing is slowly bathing my body. I can identify with my feelings now. I will still keep them tucked away for me alone, but I know that I am not the only one who is different because of circumstances beyond my control. I have FINALLY realized there IS someone out there that feels like I do and I am not some alien mother.

The first year is a blur… lost in feeling sadder, more bereft, utterly emptier than you could ever (before) imagine any heart feeling, much less your own. Like some sadistic wormhole, the first anniversary rockets you back to that day, the exact surreal moment you knew he was gone, but couldn’t believe it, wouldn’t believe it, because it could not be true … and it replays, looping over and over again. But you don’t mind, somehow, because going back to that moment brings him closer … and he feels so far away now, a year gone. But reliving it lets you glean the memory for some small detail that might allow it to make sense. So you sit with it, with him, wailing your grief – silently or not – like a Chilean mother of a disappeared son … arms aching, head pounding, breathing only in snot-riddled gasps at the emptiness his senseless absence leaves.

I am lost without you, my love. Lost. You took so big a part of me with you that I hardly recognize myself. But I can do without that part of me if it is with you … if it comforts you, keeps you safe, keeps you wrapped in my love forever.

Has it been a year? It doesn’t feel like a year. It feels like last week. Will I ever wake up? Will I ever feel happy again? Will anything ever make sense again? Not possible.

My first anniversary was 20 years ago. Every January 21st I become a time traveler. It’s a sacred trip to me, one that the love I still feel for him allows me, so some years I haven’t even shared it with those who love me most. It’s the one day I let myself return to Before, to the brightness of what was supposed to be his place in the world. Some years I feel him closer on that day, some years I don’t. The light will return, but it will never be as bright as it once was, when he was within reach. “New normal” … it’s self-preservation, but no one says you have to be happy about it, and especially not today.

Anna, you are so not alone. I feel you, and Jack and all the love for you that’s here, so deeply. You are wrapped in thousands of loving arms … let them do the work of keeping you upright today, if that’s what you need. If not, know that we all feel and acknowledge his heartbreaking absence. The world did not, does not, continue, impervious, without him. We know, and we hurt both with and for you.

So simplistic … TOO simplistic … but painfully true: It gets better.

For Jack, for my Sean, for every mother with aching, empty arms … nothing but love. Only love. All the love there’s ever been in the world.

They will be on my mind ALL DAY TODAY and offering up my prayers at mass tonight for them. May God continue to give them strength to continue on their journey here on earth until they meet Jack again in Heaven. Peace & prayer, Anna, Tim, and Margaret. You are SO LOVED!

It is almost too much to imagine. As mothers, we are afraid to imagine what this feels like. It is too much to bear. I scream against the world that allows this to happen. This pain. Anna, I send you love and peace, and G, thank you for lifting up Anna and her family.